by Tim Stevens
Surveillance.Trained operatives.
The realisation punched a cold fist into his gut.
Calvary shut his eyes. He’d been so stupid that he deserved to get caught.
*
He started with the collars of his shirt and coat, running his fingertips underneath them. Nothing. He pulled the coat off, felt along the arms, ran his palms over the back.
Delved into the pockets. And found it deep in the lint of one of them.
It was the size of a pinhead with an array of hooks radiating like curved limbs. Light from a street lamp winked off it. Calvary imagined that if he looked at it under proper illumination he’d see writing in Cyrillic.
The Russian on the tram, the squat one who’d been shot. Calvary had been standing behind him, thinking he was undetected. But the Russian had been aware of him, had dropped the bug in his pocket. Probably when the hijackers boarded and it became clear the Russian wasn’t going to get near Gaines.
Calvary threw the bug deep into the alley, beyond a heap of bins. He peered out into the street. A few cars, passing at speed, not looking for him. He emerged and loped across the street to another alley almost directly opposite.
Less than a minute later two cars appeared from opposite directions, pulling to a stop facing each other. An Audi and a Toyota. The Audi’s driver stayed put but his passenger stepped out. A woman, a finger in her ear, her lips moving. The man in the back climbed out, too, as did the driver of the Toyota.
The two men walked down the alley at a crouch. From the way they held their arms before them, Calvary knew they had handguns.
The woman stayed at the mouth of the alley. There was something familiar about her. As she turned to look down the street, Calvary stared at her profile and realised she was the old woman he’d seen in the car as they’d been leaving the office. She wasn’t all that old, he realised. But there was something… wrong about her.
The two men emerged from the alley. The woman jerked her head to one side, her mouth set in frustration.
They glanced about, the three of them, as though they might through an immense stroke of luck see their target loitering nearby. They conferred, briefly. Then they got back into the cars and pulled away.
Russians. He was certain of it.
*
The Fiat turned into the road and he was on the back seat almost before it came to a stop. Max gaped at him.
‘Jeez, dude, you’re bleeding.’
Calvary touched his face, felt the congealing stickiness. ‘It’s nothing. Drive. Anywhere, for now.’
He updated them in terse sentences. They’d been aware of nothing until Blazek’s reinforcements had started piling into the restaurant, shortly before the shooting started.
Max said, ‘I got some pictures. Unknown guys going in. We’ll run them through the database later.’
Calvary said, ‘You need to ring Jakub. Tell him to get out of there. The Russians tracked me to the office, they know about it.’
‘Damn.’ Max slapped the dashboard. ‘He’ll have to wipe the hard drives, bring the laptops with him.’
Max made the call. On the wheel, Nikola’s knuckles were ivory.
She said, ‘Russians, again.’
‘Yes. It doesn’t make sense, unless they’re working with Blazek in some way. But his men killed the Russian on the tram. So that theory doesn’t hold, either.’ He was beginning to come down off the adrenaline high, to feel fatigue hit him in a series of slow blows. ‘We have to assume there are two hostile parties looking for us. Blazek’s people, and the Russians.’
‘We’re going to pick Jakub up. He’s making his way to the Old Town,’ said Max. ‘Then where the hell do we go?’
*
Bartos used his palms, their meaty weight the equivalent of a smaller man’s fists. Janos’s head rocked left, right, left again. Blood from his split lip slashed the wall.
‘Again,’ roared Bartos. ‘Again. Not once, not twice, but three times.’
Janos raised an arm to fend off the blows at last but the move only stoked Bartos’s fury.
‘Don’t you put your hand up to me,’ he screamed. He put his boot in his son’s chest and shoved. Janos and the chair he was on were sent tipping back against the wall. Bartos kicked the chair’s back legs away and the younger man bounced off the floor. He curled into a ball and lay there, shuddering.
Bartos raised his boot to stamp down. Stopped himself.
He looked at the blood on the walls and the carpet of the summer house. The smashed furniture.
‘Clean this fuckin’ mess,’ he said, spittle flying. He barged out.
Miklos was waiting outside, his arms folded. The rest of the men were up at Bartos’s main house. They couldn’t be al kldnspan›
‘Little bastard’s finished,’ said Bartos.
Miklos had coordinated the evacuation of the restaurant, making sure Janos and his entourage got out before the police arrived. He’d taken statements, provided Bartos with a summary even before they’d arrived at the Kodiak’s home.
‘He’s jerked me off for the last time.’ Bartos stared off over the city’s lights. ‘This Brit guy.’
‘He has nothing,’ said Miklos behind him.
‘He humiliated me again.’
‘He took Zito’s gun. He has nothing else. Janos told him nothing. The other men confirm this.’
Bartos didn’t turn. After a few seconds he pulled out his phone.
The Worm’s phone was switched off. Bartos thought about leaving a message — never turn your phone off on me — but decided against it.
Thirty seconds later his phone buzzed. The Worm.
‘Couldn’t speak just then. What’s up?’
‘Who is this guy?’
‘Which guy are we — ’
‘Don’t dick me around. The umbrella guy. The one who just got the better of six of my men, disarmed one of them. Shut down the Restaurant Nebe.’
‘I’m working on it.’
‘That’s not good enough.’ Bartos breathed deep. He knew if he started shouting, up at the house the twins would wake up. ‘If he’s some kind of undercover special forces agent I need to know about it. Need to know what kind of connections he’s got, what sort of backup.’
‘He doesn’t need any backup, by the look of it. Seems to me he’s doing a fine job of running rings round you on his own.’
Oh, you’ll pay. The phone creaked in Bartos’s fist.
The Worm went on: ‘Look, Blazek. You need to get a grip. I feed you information, it’s up to you what you do with it. It’s not my fault you’ve let it go to waste, let this man slip through your fingers. At least you’ve got Gaines. I’ll let you know once I’ve found out why he’s so important. Till then, get off my back.’
*
The Worm cut the boor off in mid-shout, then opened his palmtop computer. There it was. The beacon, a different one. Calvary was still on the radar.
He’d wondered how much to tell Blazek about Calvary. Whether to tell him his name, and that he was a suspected assassin for the British k thize="+0"›Hgovernment. In the end he’d decided to reveal nothing. The Worm didn’t think Blazek was a coward, but he did wonder if the big man would baulk at going after somebody with Calvary’s pedigree, or his suspected links. There was a risk he and his men might pull their punches, awed even if unconsciously by who they were up against, and that would be fatal when dealing with a man like Calvary.
The Worm looked at his watch. Twelve forty-five a.m. He needed to get moving.
*
Nikola drove parallel to the river. The view across was spectacular, the castle high above, soaring and brooding simultaneously. She’d taken a roundabout route and by the way she watched her mirrors, made unexpected turns, Calvary knew she had some experience shaking off tags.
A grand, ornate building was coming up and Nikola took an abrupt right and pulled in. Jakub climbed in the back. He didn’t look at Calvary. His face was grim.
‘We go to my apartmen
t,’ said Nikola. ‘Even if they search the office, they will not be able to trace us there.’
On the way, Calvary checked the pistol he’d taken off the man in the club. A Glock 17. Modern, chunky, effective. The magazine was full. He passed it forward to Max, who flinched a little. Not a good sign.
‘Swap it. Give me the Browning,’ said Calvary.
‘Why?’
‘I’d prefer it.’
He didn’t tell them the real reason, which was that the Browning needed to be cocked before every shot. The Glock chambered a new round automatically, making it easier for a novice to use.
Assuming they ever needed to use it.
*
They navigated a warren of streets. After ten minutes’ silence, Calvary turned to Jakub.
‘Look. You don’t like me. You don’t like that I’ve brought Blazek down on your heads, when you were working on ways to get at him without being noticed. I’m sorry for you. But I can’t undo any of it. I need your help, and you sure as hell need mine. So let’s work together.’
Jakub’s lizard eyes revealed nothing.
Calvary gazed out the window, watching the midnight city seem to grab at the car as it went by.
*
Nikola’s flat was in the Vinohrady district to the southeast. She parked on the street and they followed her up. It was a small two-bedroom apartment on the second floor. Cosy, cluttered, with signs of only one occupant.
Calvary felt awkward in the confined space, with his boots and his gun. He’d made sure Max brought the Glock in with them as well. They seated themselves around a battered kitchen table and Nikola made tea and sandwiches. Calvary felt the fatigue starting to drag him under.
He tossed the wallet onto the table. Pulled out the business card. Marek Zito, and the phone number.
Max said, ‘Yeah, we know Zito. Close to Janos, as you’ve discovered for yourself. History of jail time for assault, burglary.’ He shrugged. ‘But we’re no further in than we were before.’
‘We have a number,’ Calvary said. ‘And I have an idea.’
*
He told them. Max watched him with growing incredulity. Nikola glanced from time to time at Jakub, who’d dropped his gaze to the tabletop.
Afterwards Max flipped the card in the air, caught it deftly. ‘Never work.’
‘Agreed,’ Jakub grunted.
Calvary said, ‘Look. You said yourselves, the brother, Miklos, is the golden boy. The anointed heir. This Janos is just a kid. At that age you’re full of piss and vinegar. Hypersensitive. He wants respect from his dad, the boss, Bartos. Instead he’s screwed up. Three times. First, on the tram. That was him in charge. Sure, he got Gaines, which earned him some brownie points. But he accidentally shot a Russian — what’s more, a Russian intelligence agent, it seems — and he lost one of his men in a surprise counterattack by a total stranger. Me. Then, he fails to take me down outside the hospital, gets himself slammed in a car door, and indirectly gets his brother’s car wrecked. Finally he lets me escape from what should have been an airtight trap, a trap I walked straight into, in the restaurant. Bartos has got to be furious with him. And Janos is feeling utterly humiliated.
‘His one shot at redemption is taking me in. Without help from his father or his brother. He’ll suspect something’s up when I contact him — I don’t think he’s stupid enough not to. But I doubt he’ll go straight to Bartos or Miklos or any of the rest of the crew with the information.’
Nikola ran her hand through her hair. ‘It is a gamble.’
‘Worth it. Possibly our only shot.’ He finished his tea. ‘Two things. I need to make a phone call first, in private. I’ll go for a walk. Second, I need a few hours’ rest. We all do.’
*
Outside, the street was dark with trees. He walked several blocks away, the Browning in his waistband. He hit the speed dial.
‘Martin. Where are you?’
He closed his eyes at the sound of the voice.
‘You have to give me more time, Llewellyn.’
width="2edth="2em" align="justify"›‘I’m listening.’
He brought Llewellyn up to date, leaving out nothing, not even what he planned to do.
‘I need you to run a check on the Russians.’ He described them. The squat one who’d been shot on the tram. The young, dark-haired one who’d been following Gaines and also at the alley where he’d dropped the bug. The slightly older, fair-haired man. And the woman: middle-aged but looking older, sick or injured in some way.
‘I’ll do it,’ said Llewellyn. ‘There should be something at least on one of the older ones.’
Calvary drew the night air into his lungs. He glanced about, the shadows seeming to crowd in on him.
‘I need you to run some other checks.’
He gave descriptions of Nikola, Max and Jakub along with their names, and that of their newsletter, Reflektor.
Calvary said, ‘I can get Gaines. But at the moment, Blazek and his crew really don’t seem to know why they’ve kidnapped him. I don’t know either. That suggests he’s somewhere nearby, and hasn’t been disposed of yet.’
‘Yet.’
‘For God’s sake, Llewellyn.’ He fought to keep his voice low. ‘You want him dead, don’t you? Who cares if it’s some mobster who bumps him off?’
‘You know very well that it has to be you, Martin. And very visibly you.’
‘If I read the morning’s papers and find you’ve shopped me, Llewellyn, then all bets are off.’
A chuckle. ‘No, don’t worry. You’ve earned a grace period. Shall we say, twelve hours? The evening editions?’
Calvary took four long, slow breaths. Then he said, ‘Gaines isn’t going to be my last kill, Llewellyn. There’ll be one more.’
He rang off.
FOURTEEN
‘You understand what you are asking for, Darya Yaroslavovna.’
She did, yes.
‘Half a dozen extra people. To carry out a potentially explosive operation — literally and politically — on EU soil.’
Yes, she appreciated the implications.
‘Without Embassy protection. Without the cover, the logistical support the Embassy could provide.’
She was aware of the drawbacks, but it was the only way this could be done. It had to be deniable, if it went wrong.
For a long minute — it seemed as long as that, anyway — she heard only his breathing. Then: ‘I’ll do what I can.’
way — ssize="+0"›Krupina closed her eyes. It meant consider it done.
‘My balls are on the line, Darya Yaroslavovna.’
‘I’m very grateful, tovarischch. Profoundly so.’
‘We’ll find out just how grateful the next time I need a favour from you.’
It was a secure connection, as secure as they came, yet she listened after her superior had rung off, her ear probing for the tell-tale click of a tapped line. Old habits.
She opened the door. Gleb was outside, hovering at a respectful distance.
‘It’s a go.’
He breathed out. ‘Thank God. What sort of numbers?’
‘I asked for half a dozen. I think I’ll get them.’
‘When?’
She raised a shoulder. ‘Ten, twelve hours. Out of our hands.’
*
In the alley Tamarkin had lost his temper, hurling the bug against the wall. Not like him.
‘He can’t be far. Yet he might as well be on the other side of the world.’
Krupina leaned against the Audi, lit up. Blew ragged tusks of smoke from her nostrils.
She said: ‘We change our focus. Calvary, yes, he’s still important. But I think we can be sure that this Blazek has a hand in Gaines’s abduction. That the invaders on the tram were Blazek’s men. Which means, we go after him.’
Her boys, Gleb and Arkady and Lev, said nothing. They weren’t defeatists, she knew.
‘I’m aware of our numbers. Our limited resources. We need backup. Bodies on the ground, mainly.’
Tamarkin said, ‘We ask the Embassy?’
‘No. I go crawling to Moscow tugging my forelock. Appeal directly for assistance.’
Arkady let out a slow whistle between his teeth. ‘This Gaines must be someone special if you think you’ve any chance with that approach. With respect, boss.’
‘And I know you’re fishing with that remark, Arkasha, but it’s still “need to know”.’
*
Calvary lay in the darkness, listening to the shuffling and settling of the other three in their respective rooms, to the muffled sounds of the late-night city beyond the windows.
Three people. Two men and a woman. Journalists, not fighters. However much they liked to style themselves as guerrillas. Two handguns between them.
Against them, the biggest organised crime operation in Prague. And Russian intelligence, probably SVR.
All that he had to do was find Gaines and kill him, making sure the Russians knew it was him who’d done the deed.
That was all he had to do. Except he didn’t have a clue where they were keeping Gaines.
Calvary had been given the spare bedroom, a box-like space with a single bed. Max and Jakub took the floor and the sofa in the living room. They turned in at half past one, with plans for a five a.m. start. Calvary hadn’t made the call yet, wasn’t planning to until the last moment. He wanted Janos to be working against a deadline, with little time to think through his decision or call up an army of reinforcements.
As often happened, Calvary was so tired that he found sleep difficult. He lay entirely still, fully clothed save for his boots, allowing his weight to sink into the bed. Eyes closed, he modulated his breathing. Pictured his heartbeat slowing to the bare minimum needed to keep his circulation going.
Eventually he slipped into a state between wakefulness and deep sleep. As usual, the images came. Not dreams, but memories, from more than four years earlier.
*
The sweat stung his eyes and his lips and he shouldered it away. Late May, and the temperature had soared in the last week to the mid-twenties Celsius. Far from the life-sapping hell August would bring, but stifling nonetheless.
